


More Than Ordinary Hunger (The Don't Pay the Ferryman Remix)

by the_rck



Series: Apotheosis [3]
Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Magic, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Gen, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 10:36:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15993443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_rck/pseuds/the_rck
Summary: Kritiker’s curriculum hadn’t included much folklore, mythology, or religion, so Omi wouldn’t be surprised to discover that there was some obvious other thing that craved blood and couldn’t bear sun. He really hoped it was something Japanese. The idea of spending eternity as a European cliche was a bit beyond horrifying.Would he have to dress in black? Write terrible poetry? Swan about mourning his lost humanity? He supposed he could, but it would be really damned tedious. Eternity was a long time.“I need to do research,” Omi announced. He wasn’t surprised that Yohji didn’t try to persuade him to stay.





	More Than Ordinary Hunger (The Don't Pay the Ferryman Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Daegaer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Teen Spirit](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4764956) by [Daegaer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer). 



> Thanks to Nakki no Miko for beta reading.
> 
> The first part of title is from Nancy Wood's "The Meaning of Daylight."

Not breathing was really fucking weird. Well, he still breathed, sort of. The whole talking thing required air going in and out of his lungs, and using his newly heightened sense of smell really worked better if he inhaled.

Yohji was no help, in spite of the fact that he had to have found work-arounds for the problem Omi saw as most pressing— How the hell did a vampire manage a daytime shift in a flower shop with a sidewalk display? Omi was damned sure he’d have heard complaints by now if Yohji had been avoiding that part of their job.

“Don’t worry. You’ll figure it out,” was all Yohji would say. 

Omi didn’t like the bitter anger he saw in Yohji’s eyes. He looked trapped.

“I really am sorry, Omi,” Yohji said in a tone that made Omi certain he was telling the truth. “I—“ His expression changed, and his jaw worked for a moment. He swallowed hard.

If Omi hadn’t been so pissed off, that behavior would have had him fetching a basin, but he was pretty sure— “Vampires don’t get hungover, Yohji-kun.”

Yohji shrugged and lit a cigarette. “Never said you were a vampire.”

“Right.” Omi pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s why no heartbeat, no body heat, no breathing, and the—“ He shook his head and took a moment so that he wouldn’t scream at his only source of information. “I want blood. With everything else, that means vampire.”

“There’s a lot of freaky shit out there.” Something in Yohji’s tone told Omi that he was trying to say something without saying it.

Which made Omi wonder why. This wasn’t the sort of thing Yohji would talk around. In fact, the whole turning Omi into a vampire thing was weird. Omi’d have understood if Yohji’d transformed Sakura because Yohji thought of himself as a lady’s man. Sakura would fit with Yohji’s self-image, and… 

Omi had awakened with a craving for blood and an aversion to sunlight after passing out while drinking with Yohji. He’d assumed Yohji was responsible because Yohji had had a victim waiting when Omi woke.

Even a victim Omi wouldn’t feel particularly bad, after the fact, about having murdered.

Whatever Yohji had done had been deliberate. Omi wasn’t generally inclined to drink. Omi didn’t remember drinking enough to explain passing out. QED, Yohji had drugged him.

Yohji didn’t smell like prey. Neither, Omi was relieved to discover, did Aya or Ken. Both of them smelled like danger, though, so Omi was pretty constantly fighting the urge for a pre-emptive attack to destroy the threat.

As far as Omi could tell, neither Aya nor Ken had even noticed.

Yohji damned well had. He’d _known_. He’d taken care to stand between Omi and the other two the first time Omi saw them… after. Aya was first, and Yohji’s positioning might have been chance, but Omi wasn’t prepared to consider it chance when the same thing happened with Ken.

After Ken left, Omi gave Yohji a hard look and said, “I’m not that far gone.”

Yohji relaxed almost imperceptibly. His smile was a little forced. “If you had been, you wouldn’t forgive yourself.”

There wasn’t any hint of a request in that for Omi to forgive Yohji, so Omi asked, “Why?”

Yohji’s mouth tightened. There were lines at the corners of his mouth that Omi didn’t remember noticing before. “I couldn’t control myself.”

That had a ring of truth, too, but Omi suspected he was supposed to misinterpret it, so he pretended to. “Your vices are going to kill you, Yohji-kun.”

Yohji’s smile was almost genuine. “Pretty sure something else is going to get me first.”

Omi felt a powerful urge to find someone and rip their life away. Maybe a life-gift would give Yohji some hope back.

No. Omi was letting whatever Yohji had done to him take over his thinking. _Ken_ would like such a gift. Aya wouldn’t let it affect him. Yohji--

Yohji had some really fucking weird soft spots for a killer. He wanted to think that Omi wasn’t a murderer. Omi supposed that it might be that Yohji thought that, if Omi was damned, there was no hope at all for the rest of them. Yohji and Ken always missed the fact that Omi didn’t remember anything else.

Aya understood that one. That was why Omi had always thought that, if there was a calculated, internal to the team threat, it would come from Aya.

Omi’d missed whatever the hell was going on with Yohji, and now Omi was-- whatever he was. He thought that Yohji would have confirmed vampirism if that was what they were. 

Kritiker’s curriculum hadn’t included much folklore, mythology, or religion, so Omi wouldn’t be surprised to discover that there was some obvious other thing that craved blood and couldn’t bear sun. He really hoped it was something Japanese. The idea of spending eternity as a European cliche was a bit beyond horrifying.

Would he have to dress in black? Write terrible poetry? Swan about mourning his lost humanity? He supposed he could, but it would be really damned tedious. Eternity was a long time.

“I need to do research,” Omi announced. He wasn’t surprised that Yohji didn’t try to persuade him to stay.

***

Omi walked toward a park where he and Naoe Nagi sometimes met. It was about three hours after nightfall, and Naoe had sent an immediate confirmation when Omi sent a message asking for a face to face. They usually met during the day, at a bench next to a small fountain. They pretended to be sharing school notes. That wouldn’t work for tonight. 

Well, the location would. The timing was off for homework. At least there wouldn’t be very many people in the park to overhear Omi’s questions.

Omi and Naoe had been exchanging unofficial information for weeks now. Omi didn’t trust a word of what he got because he really doubted that Naoe lived with a telepath and a precognitive and managed to deceive them both well enough to safely pass information along. 

Schwarz was still killing Kritiker agents; they were just very carefully avoiding Weiss.

Omi was pretty sure he was supposed to be trusting enough not to notice. Mostly, though, he didn’t like his team’s odds if they went head to head with Schwarz. He had been maneuvering for time.

Every single inexplicable or weird event in the last year led back to Schwarz or to Schwarz-adjacent people. If, somehow, this didn’t, Schuldig and Crawford still had ways to gather information that didn’t require coaxing words out of Yohji.

Omi wasn’t sure what he’d have to sell to get that information, but he was more than a little afraid that he’d kill Aya or Ken if one of them startled him. They wouldn’t realize he was dangerous, not unless he warned them, and he didn’t want to do that without more information.

If nothing else, Aya and Ken were likely to try to coerce Yohji into giving them answers.

Omi suspected that, if Yohji was pushed, he would lie. Omi wasn’t sure if Yohji wanted to conceal the truth or if he simply couldn’t say it. Either way, all Aya and Ken would get was blood and bruises.

The blood part sounded pretty good right then, and Omi had to exert all of his willpower not to grab one of the people he was passing on the street. Some of them might deserve having their throats ripped out in an alley, but Omi couldn’t tell that based on a glance.

He’d already killed twice for blood; Yohji had provided victims both times. Tonight, Yohji hadn’t bothered.

Omi claiming that he had the flu-- even with Yohji to back him up-- wasn’t going to hold up for more than another day or two. Ken was being good natured about it, but Aya didn’t like how working extra shifts cut into his search for his sister.

Omi was going to have to figure out a way to feed himself tonight.

After he talked to Naoe.

When Omi reached the park, Naoe was already waiting on the bench. He stood as Omi approached and said, “Crawford is really good at predicting things.”

Omi stopped about three meters away. If he was going to react badly to Naoe the way he had to Aya and Ken, he wanted some space between them. He didn’t feel any strong impulse that way, but everything was so new that he couldn’t take chances. He studied Naoe through narrowed eyes.

Omi considered striking a melodramatic pose and inviting Naoe to join him as one of the undead. Instead, he said, “You _knew_.” He just barely managed to make it not accusatory.

There were reasons Naoe might know that had nothing to do with Schwarz having fucked with Yohji.

And, even if Schwarz had, Omi had never expected better from Naoe.

Naoe shrugged one shoulder. “Crawford said to tell you the only way out is through.” He picked up a backpack from the bench where he’d been sitting. “Tonight, the part of your guide through the Underworld will be played by the one and only Naoe Nagi.” He reached into the pack and pulled out a small lantern. “Farfarello said I had to have a lamp. Apparently, it’s traditional. I drew the line at one that needed fire. _I_ have to carry all my own food and water.”

Omi took a half step back.

“Are you coming?” Naoe asked. “I’d like to be back by dawn if you can manage it. Apparently, we’re on a deadline, but Crawford says that how long we’ve got depends on whose mythology has primacy.”

That was so very much not what Omi had been hoping to hear, but it didn’t surprise him nearly as much as it probably should have. He forced himself to take two steps toward Naoe.

“If it helps,” Naoe said, “this will be my third time through. Just stay on the path, don’t run from any fights, don’t turn back, and don’t talk to anyone who doesn’t address you first.”

Omi nodded to the staying on the path, but the other rules sounded like bullshit. “Why?”

“I don’t make the rules,” Naoe said. “And I don’t have to follow them. I have a different set of rules. Because I’m not you.” He looked at his watch. “You’ve got about five minutes to decide. _I_ don’t care.”

Omi was pretty sure Naoe was lying about not caring. “Five minutes to decide?” he asked. “Or five minutes before we leave? Because if we’re going on a long trip, I’d better make sure I’m not going to eat the guide.”

“You have to fast,” Naoe said. “You eat me-- or anyone else-- and you’re utterly fucked. Crawford said you wouldn’t stop on the way here, and, well… Apparently you didn’t.”

“Any other arbitrary rules?” Omi rubbed the back of his neck.

“One or two,” Naoe replied. “I’ll tell you on the way.”


End file.
